Life's Little Surprises
by Totally Spazz-tastic
Summary: It's 2006, Hermione Granger-Weasley and husband Ron are at St. Mungo's for their nephew's birth. It's an exciting occasion, but Hermione's a little distracted. What's wrong with Hermione? Canon-compliant, epilogue included. Complete, but could continue.


**St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London**

 **February 27, 2006**

Hermione Granger-Weasley walked purposefully down the brightly-lit hall of St. Mungo's Hospital Maternity Ward. In her hands she held a tray of three to-go cups of tea and a bag of scones. She wrinkled her nose. _Ugh_ , she thought, _Why did I get Earl Grey? It smells ghastly._ Swallowing back her nausea, she rounded the corner to find her husband, Ron, sitting in one of the rickety chairs against the portrait-covered walls..

"Hey," Hermione said and handed him the cup, sitting down beside him. "Don't worry, I already applied the sweetening charm. Oh, and your scone!"

Ron took the pastry. "Thanks, love." He took a bite, then paused. "You're not eating?"

"What?" Hermione said, shifting uncomfortably. "Nothing sounded good."

"Again?" Ron furrowed his brow. "Honey, you've like this for two weeks now— didn't you see a healer this morning?"

"Yes, I did," s he said slowly. "Ronald? I—"

"Ron! Hermione!" The couple looked up.

A weary but happy-looking Harry Potter stood in front of his two best friends. "It's a boy," he said breathlessly, but he looked like he could shout the news from the rooftops. "Another baby boy! Born a few hours ago! And Ginny is doing fine, by the way," Harry added quickly, preempting Ron's question. Ginny was his little sister, after all. "Just tired; she wanted to take a short nap before she saw anyone. She says twenty-two hours of labor takes a lot out of a person...and my hand!" he joked as he shook out his wrist. "She's got a bloody good grip."

"And the baby?" Hermione asked.

Harry flicked his wand and conjured a chair, copying the ones his friends sat in. "Oh, yeah, Albus is great! Healers wanted to do couple more diagnostic spells while he and Gin were sleeping, though. He's six pounds, two ounces," he babbled. "He's a little small for being full-term, so the healers are being extra cautious." He paused. "But still so, so _beautiful_." A soft grin played on his lips.

Hermione gave Harry a gentle hug. "Congratulations, Harry. You must be so proud."

"Congrats, mate!" Ron patted his best friend on the back. "So you went with the name Albus then. And the middle name?"

"It took a bit of convincing, but Ginny finally agreed." Harry flopped down into his chair, and Hermione handed him a cup of tea. "Oh, thanks. Yup, Albus Severus Potter." Hermione grimaced and Ronald smothered a groan with a cough. "She's convinced we've doomed him to a life of mockery." Harry continued, completely oblivious to his friends' less than positive reactions. "But for all their faults, Dumbledore and Snape made me the man I am today." The man shrugged. "It's the only way I really can truly say thank you. For caring about me, I mean—supporting me. Oh! That reminds me!"

Harry leaned forward, hands clasped and elbows resting on his knees. Hermione knew that stance: serious business time. "I've been thinking about my family's future, and my place in it. That I want to _keep_ my place in it. So, I've decided to take a desk job, with minimal fieldwork."

Hermione gasped. "But, Harry, you _love_ your job!"

"And mate," Ron protested, "You're an amazing Auror, and practically unmatched in an all-out wand fight!"

"Exactly, but we don't see many of those anymore do we? Most of the old Death Eaters are either dead or imprisoned." Harry shrugged. "Post-war operations are wrapping up. Robards is saying we've got to transition back to peacetime protocols. And besides, I want— " his voice cracked, "I want to see my kids grow up, be there for all the memories that . . ." Harry trailed off, but Hermione knew what he was thinking. _That Harry never got to make with his dad._

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat and whispered, "Then I think you made the right decision." She raised her voice to regular volume. "So what does Ginny think?"

"What?" Harry drew out of his thoughts. "Oh! Yeah, she thinks it's great! Says it takes the stress off her too, actually." Harry nodded to himself. "It also got us talking about other safeguards for a family. So we want you two to be our children's godparents. You know, in case anything happens to either of us."

Hermione's mouth went dry. _Godparent? Me, raising_ three _children? I know I married young, but me, a parent? No, no, no! I'm much too young for children! I'm not ready to take on that much responsibility! Not this soon._

 _Wait. Sirius was even younger when he became a godparent, and he should've been Harry's guardian at twenty-one—no, wait bad example. He was a terrible godfather and probably would've made an even worse guardian . . . no! No, Hermione, don't go there— don't bring up Sirius to Harry, that'd ruin the moment. Dear God, three children? I don't even know how to tell Ronald about the—_

Her husband's excited happy voice broke thru her racing thoughts. "Really? Wow, thanks, mate! Y'know for a second there we—well, I—was a little worried you'd chosen Neville and Hannah or something, but yeah! Of course we'll be godparents! Right, Hermione . . . Hermione?" Ron must've noticed her face. He sounded concerned. "You all right in there?"

Hermione blinked. "What? Oh . . . godparent? That's very sweet of you to think of us,Harry . . ." Harry looked hopeful. Ron was analyzing her, concern clouding his eyes. _Fake it for Harry_ , his eyes said. _We'll talk when he's gone._ She sighed internally, then faked a bright smile and hoped it was convincing. "Of course! We'd love to!

Harry smiled wide. "Great!" He stood up. "Well," he yawned, "I'm going to go grab Jamie to check on Ginny," He gave them both quick hugs and added, as if as an afterthought, "And my _second_ son," enjoying the novelty of the word. Ron and Hermione shared a quiet chuckle at their friend's expense as he practically skipped down the hall. The mood between them soured the moment Harry was out of sight.

Ron turned on her. "Okay, spill," he said. "First, the facts: You love Harry to bits and Ginny's one of your best girlfriends. We're married, so the kids would have the two of us. He'll be well loved and be well supported." He threw his hands up in the air. "So what's the problem?"

Hermione gave a dramatic huff. "The problem, _Ronald_ , is you didn't ask me first before deciding for both us! It's patronizing and sexist and you _know_ I hate it when you do that!"

"What?" Ron scoffed. "Come on, Hermione; don't give me that! I can see your emotions even if I don't get where it's coming from."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Well," he blushed, "Getting better, at any rate. No, I know what I saw earlier. When I make you mad, your hair gets all," he gestured about wildly, "bristly. Like a hedgehog. But when Harry was talking about godparents, you didn't bristle; you froze. You held your breath and your eyes went wide—just like with your panic attacks, but shorter. You know what I think? You're scared, scared of being a godparent and I want to know why."

Hermione stared at her husband open-mouthed. Caught like a Death Eater with a Dark Mark tattoo, she dropped the act and back into the chair—revealing the frazzled woman beneath. She took a deep breath. "Fine. I'm scared. I'm too young, all right?" Ron looked confused.

"Godmothers are supposed to be… older. Right? Yeah—older. Like, my mom was thirty-five when she had me, and an accomplished dental surgeon. I'm barely twenty-six! I can barely handle Jamie over a weekend, and now Harry thinks I can raise three kids? Absolutely ridiculous, I mean, _really_?"

"Hold your hippogriffs!" said Ron. He looked more confused by the minute. "Who said anything about _raising_ them? Hermione, this is just a precau—"

"And another thing!" Hermione said, cutting him off. "It's too soon! I had it all planned out: we were going to wait until I was a little less swamped at work before starting a family but—nope!" Hermione was ranting, and she became vaguely aware of her voice steadily increasing speed and volume. "Scrap those plans, because with a kid there's no way in hell I'd have time for _work_! And to make matters worse, we only just got committee approval last week, too! No, it's much too soon, even if everyone else doesn't think so! I'm not ready! I'm not—"

Ronald Weasley took hold of his frantic wife, desperate to make sense of anything. "Love, what in Merlin's name are you—"

"I'm not ready to be a mother!"

Hermione winced. That was not how she wanted to break the news. She turned to her husband; now Ron was the one frozen. Hermione sat; there were tears on her cheeks, and she cursed the hormones wreaking havoc on her usually tightly-reined emotions. She gently touched her still-flat stomach. "Ronald," she whispered. "I'm pregnant."

Ron spoke in a whisper. "What? Y-you're," he gulped. "You're pregnant?" She nodded, but Ron didn't seem convinced. "How? W-we were careful!" he stammered. "What about the potion? And your muggle 'diaphragm' thing? What happened?"

Hermione nodded. "That's what I said, but Healer Winthrop used 3 different spells and one very revolting potion to confirm it. I'm pregnant. Eleven weeks pregnant, give or take." She shifted uncomfortably. "She said all contraceptives have a possibility of failure." Ever the pragmatist, she shrugged. "Can't argue with scientific fact."

Ron sat back in his chair and ran his hand through his flaming red hair as he processed the news. In hindsight, Hermione was thankful for the private hallway St. Mungo's had offered for the Potter birth (one of the perks of being the Man-Who-Lived-Twice).

As they sat in silence, Hermione sunk once again into the whirlpool of panicked thoughts. _This couldn't be worse timing:_ just _when I get my Muggleborn and Squib support bill into committee, this_ _happens._ Struck by an uncomfortable thought, she groaned. _They were right; oh God, those Ministry gossips—they were right about me._

"Did you hear? That Granger woman just got her Werewolf Support bill passed!" At the sound of her name, a then twenty-two - Hermione Granger-Weasley had slowed her steps to eavesdrop on the middle-aged wizards chatting in the Ministry cafeteria that day. "Pretty impressive for such a young Muggleborn witch."

"Yes, _quite_ impressive," said his grey-haired friend. "She's very promising, that one. Brilliant too," he sighed. "It's a real shame she'll be leaving us soon—she got married last month, you know. I've seen it time and again: young witch, racing up the political ladder. But then they get married and the clock starts ticking, 'cause you've only got a year or two before she's pregnant and she _promises_ she'll be back in three months, but mark my words: it'll be eleven years before you see that witch working here again." The man had shrugged in resignation. "That's just how it is." At the time, Hermione had marched back to her office and slammed the door behind her. Later that evening, she'd ranted to Ronald about the abominable sexism of it all. It had led them to a lengthy family planning session, culminating in the mutual decision that, for the sake of stability, they would wait until they were twenty-eight before broaching the topic of children again.

Now Hermione Granger-Weasley was twenty-six and very much pregnant. She groaned. _At least I lasted three years longer than he predicted,_ she thought. _Damn their gender norms to hell! But . . . Ron'll expect that too, won't he? He'll expect me to be like Molly: stay-at-home mom, waiting at the door for her Auror with a toddler on her hip, and apple pie baking in the oven?_ The image made her want to hurl (though recently all food-related thoughts made her sick). _That's not me! I'm rubbish in the kitchen, and cleaning? I can't stand mess and I'd run myself ragged cleaning up after a kid. Oh God, who am I kidding, I'd be a horrible mother, irritable and nagging, constantly wishing I were back at work. Ronald would hate me! We'd fight all the time and OH GOD EVERYTHING IS—_

Hermione heard her husband exhale. "Bloody hell, crazy timing, yeah? It'll be hard but—" he took her small hands in his. He'd come to his own conclusion, then. She steeled herself for heartbreak and backbreaking expectations only to have his response draw her up short.

"We'll figure it out. We always do."

She stared at him in disbelief. "W-what?" Hermione choked out a sob. "But Ronald, you don't understand! I-I'm not made to be a homemaker! And I _know_ , wizarding culture has different rules, but it's not _me!_ If you force me to stay home I'll get bitter and angry. I just know it! I'd resent you, resent the kids, hate magic, and we'd end up divorced. I'm sorry, Ronald, but I can never be your mum—"

"Whoa, there!" Ron held up his hands in the universal signal of surrender. "Where'd this come from, 'force you'? ...Wait," his brow furrowing as he pieced together her point, "is this what you've been freaking out about—my expectations?" Hermione nodded, sniffling, and Ron's voice hardened. "Merlin's beard, Hermione… I thought you knew me better than this!"

She gaped up at him, utterly confused.

"Did I ever once say I wanted you to stay home? To be like Mum?" Ron yelled. "No, I never did, did I? I'd never, _ever_ do that to you and I never will, Hermione!" he shouted. Ron rubbed his face. "Buggering hell, woman," he murmured.

Hermione started to cry even harder. She hugged him, and Ron wrapped his arms around her small frame despite his sadness and frustration. "I'm so, so sorry," Hermione whispered into his shirt. "I-I don't know what's wrong with me, I get so caught up in my thoughts sometimes."

Hermione waved her wand and nonverbally transfigured two hospital chairs into a comfortable sofa. She snuggled into his side and placed her head on his shoulder. They held each other for some time, and Ron gently ran his fingers through her wild mane of hair. Finally, she spoke. "What are we going to do?" she asked quietly. "About the baby?" She placed a tentative hand on her belly. "What will we do when she's born? You said you don't expect me to stay home but…" Hermione trailed off.

Ron took a deep breath. "You know how I go to Weasley Wizard Wheezes when you work late on Thursdays?" She nodded. "Well, last week it hit me: I'm an Auror, but at work all I can think about is the shop. Catching bad guys was great in the beginning and all, but now?" He shook his head. "I kind of hate it."

"What?"

"Remember Harry's 'saving people' thing?" Hermione nodded. "Well, right after the war, I think he chose the Aurors 'cause of all that guilt. But now, I think he does it for himself. When he saves people, it makes him happy. But me?" her husband sighed. "I think I joined only so I could be with Harry, and show him that I wouldn't leave him… like before." His eyes clouded over, surely thinking back to that cold winter day in 1998 when a Horcrux convinced him to abandon his best friend and future-wife. "And when I got over that, every case we close makes me angrier at the sick bastards who do these things. I don't want spend every day fighting the Dark; I want to make the Light feel brighter." Ron's smile returned. "So… I might just quit. I've been talking to George, and he's offered to make me an official partner."

Hermione smiled up at her husband. "That's great, Ronald, but where does the baby come into all this?" she asked tentatively.

"I'll quit the Aurors," he repeated. "And...I _like_ kids," he smiled, "and I damn well think they like me too." Hermione nodded, thinking of how much the Weasley clan loved their 'Uncle Ronnie,' and how, out of all of them, Ron was the first one besides Ginny to get the firstborn Potter to sleep in his arms. "And you get three months' leave, right, love? I know it's unusual for a guy," Ron blushed scarlet, "but what if _I_ stay home with the baby? Take care of the house? The chores?"

"Really?" Hermione sat up. "You…want to stay home?"

Ron shrugged awkwardly. "Well, somebody needs to, yeah? And, I know it won't be easy or anything, but I can learn. I can ask Mum or Gin for help if I need to."

He tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear. "And I _never_ want to be the one to hold you back from your dreams. Because you, Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley, are a barmy-arse witch who's going to change this world and become Minister of Magic someday, I know it. So stop worrying so much; we'll figure this out. We always do. Together."

Hermione pulled him into a fierce hug. "I'm sorry," she said through happy tears. "I didn't give you enough credit."

"What can I say? I'm full of surprises," he said with a wide grin.

Hermione Granger-Weasley kissed her husband full on the mouth. "Yes," she said. "You certainly are, Ronald Weasley."

 **Hello, all! Welcome to my very first Harry Potter fanfiction. This is a little plot bunny I always wanted to explore but never had a chance to until now, thanks to a Creative Writing course at Community College. It's ironic I'm writing RonXHermione when I usually** ** _read_** **Dramione. But I think my love of Dramione created this fanfiction, because one of my biggest pet-peeves with Dramione is its constant need to demonize Ron as an evil ex, sexist pig, and lazy ass. And I LOVE Ron! Dramione is just really entertaining to read. Anyway, thanks for reading and feel free to ask questions, leave critique, make recommendations, whatever!**

 **Love, Adri Spazz-tastic**


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